Everyday life as a Domina

Tag Archives: cbt

Don’t get me wrong, I love my kid. If I could do it all over again, I’d do it exactly the same way and all that trite bullshit. She’s pretty damn awesome, if I do say so myself. I’m kind of proud of myself for making such an awesome kid.

Brag moment (because I’m a parent and this is my blog and I can write about whateverthefuck I want to write about, even if it’s about my kid):

My daughter is in kindergarten, and smart as all hell. No I’m serious, I know all parents want to think their kids are exceptional in every category. But I’m not one of those parents. There are certain things my kid just fucking sucks at. She’s so damned sensitive and thin-skinned, and she just shuts down if she’s under stress (which I’m hoping is mostly just because she’s five and living a privileged life, and she’ll grow out of it).

Academia happens to be one of her strengths. According to her most recent testing, she’s a full year ahead in reading and a year and a half ahead in math. Kid is fragile as fuck, but it’s fine, she’ll be able to wipe her tears with hundred dollar bills when she’s an adult and an astrophysicist or some shit.

I went out and bought some second grade math books to do with her after her regular school lessons, and she’s flying through most those with relative ease. And I’m having to do it because the pussies who run the homeschool program don’t want to bump her up to an appropriate level for fear of “challenging her too much.”

Oh, you mean shit in her life might actually be hard at some point? The unmitigated horror!

We have to protect the children and give them participation trophies and create a completely unrealistic view of how the world works, and then bitch and complain when they grow up and are not sufficiently equipped to deal with shit.

Sigh…

Whatever. It’s fine. I’m done fighting that battle this year. It’s already half over anyway, and I had to fight to get her on independent study, and fight to allow her to skip the lessons she already exhibits mastery of, and fight to do all this stupid shit you’d think people who make a career out of providing the best education possible to future generations wouldn’t protest against.

But back to my point.

As many pros as there are to reproducing, the impact on one’s kink life is a rather significant entry in the con column.

Like last night. Upon returning home from coffee with a friend at midnight-ish, I found Kazander lying on the couch, wearing his lacy panties, watching porn on his computer.

Moments later, I found myself sitting next to him, watching porn with him, pulling his panties off, and doing nice and not-so-nice things to his body.

And can I just say I love how masochistic he’s gotten lately? Because I love how masochistic he’s gotten lately. He’s never been one for a lot of CBT, but last night, when I pinched his cock and gripped his balls, he whimpered and curled up around me so sweetly, gasping and writhing in that sexy way of his.

Before long, I decided that just pinching wasn’t enough. Out came the clothespins.

It’s crazy how much better a dick looks when there are clothespins on it.

Slapping his balls, yanking on the clothespins, pinching and twisting his nipples, and biting his ear were my activities of choice to distract him from the video.

But, as is wont to happen when I watch porn, I got horny. And I wanted a shower before making him go down on me.

So I set the computer down and told him he was going to pamper and bathe me. Naturally, the clothespins were going to stay right where they were.

It was so much fun grinding my ass against his cock with the clothespins on. Or running my fingertips lightly up his shaft, or nudging my knee against his groin.

And the noises he made when I finally took the clothespins off were just amazing.

The general plan was that he was going to lick me to an orgasm or two, then I would bend him over the edge of the bed and fuck him long and hard, and finally let him cum with my cock deep in his sore, raw, throbbing ass.

It started out well. We went into our bedroom (which is right next to the kid’s bedroom) and locked the door, then I grabbed him by his hair and shoved his face in my cunt.

He licked me to one orgasm, but I wanted another one. And I was almost fucking there when suddenly I heard crying from the next room.

“Oh, goddammit,” I muttered, pushing Kazander off me and opening the door. I stood in the spawn’s doorway to see her sitting on the bed, crying.

She always wakes up at some point in the very early morning and comes to sleep in bed with me. Apparently last night she woke up early. Seeing that my bedroom door was closed, she went into the living room to look for Kazander, and didn’t see him there, so she started crying.

I reassured her, refilled her cup of water, and tucked her back in.

The mood was basically shot.

But I wasn’t completely cruel. I would still let him cum. Once I was sure she was alright and back in bed, I went back to the bedroom and closed the door. I reached for a dildo and held it up for Kazander to see.

“Wanna take a guess where this is going?” I asked.

“Are you sure you want to do it?” he asked, referring to the possibility of another interruption.

“Yeah, but it’s going to be quick.”

So much for being able to endlessly tease and torment him.

I didn’t give him much time to get used to the size, and shoved the whole thing in him.

He was gasping and whimpering with pain, but his cute little clit was already dripping. He really is such a butt slut.

It took only a minute or two before he came, I handed him a towel to clean up, pulled the dildo out of him, and that was the somewhat underwhelming finish to what I had intended to be a much longer play session.

Oh well. We can always try again. And only 13 more years until she goes off to college.

Long time reader, first time writer. Firstly, I’d just like to thank you for your blog. It’s wonderful, and I always enjoy reading it.

There is one thing I’ve not noticed much of on your blog, and that’s ball busting. Is that something that interests you at all? It’s always been my primary fetish, but as of yet I have not had the opportunity to try it. Is there any advice you could give a novice?

Thank you in advance for your time and for your blog.

Thank you for the kind words. And yes, to answer your question, I do enjoy ball busting.

Kind of a lot.

Ball busting is a lot of fun. Like, an obscene amount of fun. I’m not sure many people are aware of this, but I’m just a tad bit on the sadistic side.

I haven’t really mentioned it much because I haven’t really done much of it lately. Kazander isn’t a masochist, Steel doesn’t live here, star has a different set of equipment (oh, and I’m going to have fun exploiting that), so the only one I could really do it with is Sounder (assuming I let him keep them….), and I’ve had my focus elsewhere with him.

But yes, I enjoy it. The thing is that I’m picky with what I like.

In ball busting, as in most of my other sadistic urges, it’s not the pain itself so much (although I’m a huge fan of leaving marks on a sub) as the reaction. When I was a ProDomme, I had a client with a pretty big ball busting fetish, and he was quite experienced with the practice.

But my sessions with him bored me to tears.

The problem was that he was quite experienced with the practice. I’m not a small woman, and I used to be a runner. I’d kick him square in the nuts as hard as I could (which was fucking hard, m’kay) and he’d wince and grunt a bit, and that was it.

And then the silly boy made the colossal mistake of telling me it was impossible to get more of a reaction out of him.

Challenge accepted.

It took four sessions, but I finally got the reaction I wanted out of him. Not surprisingly, that was the last time he came to me for sessions, the poor dear.

When I hit you in the nuts, I want the reaction. I want you to scream, fall to the floor in the fetal position, and roll around in agony for a bit.

Like so. Isn’t that pretty?

That’s what I like. And there are a number of ways to achieve this, and conversely there are a number of reasons why it can be hard to achieve with certain experienced men.

I’ve learned that, for a number of these men, the pain definitely plays a role, but it’s more the force that gets them off. They like to be hit hard. They like to see a woman wind up and punch or kick with all their strength.

Which is fine for many women. Just not for me.

What happens is that they get used to being hit that hard. Their body learns to adjust, and while it still hurts, it’s not the fall-on-the-ground-and-fight-back-nausea pain that I’m looking for. They become desensitized.

And I don’t want my boys to become desensitized. I once had a sub with the fetish, and this became a big problem in our relationship. He wanted the force. I wanted to be able to make him collapse in pain, not just today, but a year, two years, five years from now.

Want to take a guess whose desires I cared more about?

Granted, not every time I bust a boy’s balls will end in nausea and crying. One thing I love is to stand in front of a naked boy and cause just enough pain to make him drop to his knees. He’ll take a second to gather his composure, then obediently stand back up, put his hands behind his back, and wait for me to hit him again.

It’s a relatively simple thing, but it’s so awesome, seeing him drop, tense with the pain, then stand back up, presenting himself so I can cause more. He knows I’m going to cause more. He knows I’m going to hurt him again. He’s expecting it and dreading it. But he knows I want it, so that’s what he does.

It’s pretty to watch.

If you’re into it, if you want to try it, I definitely suggest going out and finding someone (preferably someone experienced, there are potential health risks involved) to do it to you. There’s nothing wrong with a good ball busting session. I would just advise that you start slow. Even if the force is your primary motivator, it would do you well to start out a little more gently, and gradually work your way up in intensity. It’s a sensitive area, it won’t take a lot to give you what you’re looking for.

But go for it. Go out and have fun, and experience for yourself how awesome it really is.

Kazander has been evolving lately… or devolving, depending on your point of view.

He’s never been a masochist of any kind. He tolerates pain because he knows I’m a sadist, but it’s never been his thing. CBT is something I only make him endure rarely, since he’s always hated it. Continue reading →

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What this blog is

This is an 18+ blog about my day-to-day life as a Domina, wife, mother, and all that other crap. A chronicle of me. While this blog focuses primarily on the D/s aspect of my life and my relationships with Kazander, Steel, and Sounder, it is not exclusive to that subject, and I might talk about my kid, or my annoying mother, or my sister's pet cat, or whatever the hell I feel like talking about.

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It begins over a friendly disagreement, during which you smile, roll your eyes, and say, “Go fuck yourself.”

“But, Ma’am, that’s physically impossible.”

You smirk and ask how certain I am of this. On a roll, I launch into a smug and tangential rant about the anatomical impossibility of an individual’s being capable of fucking oneself. Your response is to merely shrug, smile, and make a cryptic statement:

“Don’t be so sure…”

Later that evening, you tell me bedtime will be early, an hour early to be exact. The amused look on your face says it would be in my best interests not to argue.

Sometimes I fall into a vicious cycle where I’m mentally and emotionally frustrated and cannot manage to channel that energy into productive avenues. In the old days, this would lead to drinking or drugs, but I don’t do that anymore. Instead, I try to go about my day, generally fail to complete mundane tasks and end up feeling ‘stuck’ – this progresses into a cycle of mild depression, feelings of inertia, guilt over said inertia, and then on and on it goes until something snaps me out of it.

It feels like I’m seated in a car stuck in neutral yet compelled to rev the engine until it screams.

When did I last curl up in her lap? It’s been so long, I cannot recall. Despite numbered boxcars on the calendar and the disinterested faces of clocks, a concrete memory eludes me. Time, location, and date, they’re merely three dimensions after all.